The Shadow of What Was
by IcyKali
Summary: In a time of liminality, surrounded by myriad shadows, Dracula and Death come to an understanding. One-shot. Death/Dracula.


_Author's Note: I love writing for this series and using Dracula as a POV character because I get to experiment and make the prose incredibly romantic and purple! And of course, this ship needs more content._

As fond of new, as-unheard of pleasures as any immortal creature of the night, the Demon Lord Dracula had attempted something different upon that placid midnight. Instead of using regular fire magics to start the fire roaring in the fireplace, he had used his Dark Inferno. This had set the wood ablaze with flames of the deepest scarlet, like a bloodstained wedding dress preserved so that its red hue would never lessen in richness. These red flames would also continually send whispers of shadows dancing across the walls—these were not akin to the shadow plays of Blackmore, one of the dark magicians who lives within Castlevania's walls, but rather shapes struggling to take recognizable form yet always falling just shy of managing to do so. Perhaps these were echoes of the souls stored in Dracula's Crimson Stone, scarcely remembering who they had been in life?

Dracula sat in a gilt, plush-covered chair, enjoying the effects of the shifting of the light on the gold detailing. The candles set out before him on the intimate dining table warmed his face as he took sips of a mixture of red wine and blood—though mortal food and drink could not feed a vampire, he still enjoyed the flavor of many dishes and beverages, and would often have Persephone dress or mix them with blood so that he could enjoy the taste and derive sustenance from that at the same time. Alcohol normally had no effect on Dracula, but something about the play of light and shadow and the layered taste of the liquid made his head swim just slightly, and everything appeared different somehow, as if he were standing at the boundary of another world entirely.

With this rebirth of his Castle, Dracula had been gifted this luxurious, silent cabinet, which featured paintings of all genres covering each and every wall. He looked up from his drink and his gaze fell upon the work resting on a ledge over the fireplace: it was an unassuming, delicately-painted depiction of a bouquet of Madonna lilies, the flowers Lisa loved—had loved. In the obfuscating light, with the sleepy haze hanging over him, Dracula could not determine the work's genre—was it botanical study, or still-life? He suddenly knew he could not find the answer alone, not on a night like this one. "...Death."

The tallest, most twisted shadow peeled off the wall and floated to the center of the room. It transformed into a robe slowly fluttering in a magical wind, and Death took shape inside of it. "What is it that you desire, Lord Dracula?" he asked.

Dracula smirked. "My, what an extravagant entrance. To think I merely wished to hear your informed opinion of this painting!" He gestured theatrically to the work, intentionally lifting his cape to do so.

Death's skull tilted in amusement. "Ah, you did not appear adequately entertained, my lord! This painting…" his voice became muted when he saw the lily watercolor. He levitated over to it. "...It is fine and fair. You love it, I presume?"

Dracula nodded. "It is a shame that it simply appeared along with the Castle, and thus there is no painter responsible for it… knowing that this unique work will vanish eventually is unfortunate." In the shifting red light, the bluish-green pods of the Madonna lilies seemed a gentle royal purple. He thought they looked ready to burst forth into new blossoms. "...But there is no use dwelling on such things. I wanted to ask you whether this is a still-life or a botanical illustration, of the sort that has become so popular with humans these days. Truly, you'd think repulsive human aristocrats had never truly seen flora before… and perhaps they had not." Dracula knew that Death loved ambiguous things.

It might have only been the wine and blood dulling his senses, or the cursed, swirling shades, but Dracula thought he had seen Death shoot him a sorrowful glance before turning to examine the watercolor. "It has elements of both genres, Lord Dracula—though the plain background suggests a depiction of a scientific specimen, the delicate gradients throughout the work and the dramatic arrangement of the lilies indicate that there is a deeper emotional meaning to the painting. It is both," he declared. "...There are many who would not have you wallowing in grief at the loss of such a lovely watercolor," he added, in a soft tone.

"Oh?"

Death looked Dracula in the eye. "Headhunter, for instance, has a collection of disembodied heads of both accomplished botanists and artists. He could don the mantle of one and produce a work of similar majesty."

"Thank you, Death. I will take this into consideration." Dracula took another dainty sip from his glass.

Dracula was about to offer Death a seat, when Death spoke once more: "To think I believed you would ask to hear my opinion of these rather melodramatic portraits." Indeed, behind Death, hanging on the study's far wall, were two grand manner portraits—one of Dracula, and one of Death himself. Both were held in golden frames, their delicate floral reliefs belying the painting's heaviness—the works were nearly as tall as their subjects!

Dracula grinned warmly and openly, an expression not particularly befitting of a lord. "Ah, I see the Castle has put our portraits side-by-side! You must be disappointed, Death—normally, I see that yours be elevated in honor of your loyal service, perhaps placed in the hall above mine. Now, you have apparently sunken to my level."

"There is no place I would rather be, Lord Dracula," he said, as if patiently reminding a schoolboy of an obvious fact. "...When you act in accordance with your title, and your head has not been utterly addled by spirits." The glimmer of light in his eye sockets made it apparent that he was fully aware of the pun.

Dracula threw his head back and laughed. "Ah ha ha! Then please, if it's not too terrible a torment, take a seat before me, old friend!"

Death pulled up a chair and sat across the table from his master. The candlelight begin to waver in Death's cold, dark aura, so Dracula could only catch brief glimpses of his most trusted servant's skull. When shadows danced across the artwork and lush decoration throughout the room, the centuries melted away—Dracula could almost imagine that he was in his hidden alchemical laboratory, where he had spoken to Death for the very first time.

Dracula sleepily rotated his wrist, causing the liquid inside the glass to swirl hypnotically. A filmy sort of skin had formed on the surface, looking like the spotted, translucent wing of a butterfly. "The truth is, Death, I simply desired a bit of company tonight."

"I was well aware, Master," said Death. His finger bones were interlaced and he peered down at the table as if in prayer—his hood obscured his skull, and Dracula could no longer see it clearly. "...Do I suffice as 'a bit of company?'"

Dracula raised an eyebrow. "You far surpass such a standard—you have long been my closest confidant. Are you feeling all right?"

"I am as usual. I simply…"

Something behind Death caught Dracula's attention, and his confidant's words began to fade in his mind, as if Death were speaking behind a wall of water. Between the portraits of the two of them has fallen two humanoid shadows, one resembling Lisa with her long, wavy locks, and the other resembling Alucard with his flowing cape. If only the two of them had their own paintings, Dracula mused—the series would be depicting the state of his family as it had been in times long past. Lisa would be by his side, as she has been his one great love, and a young Alucard would stand between the two of them with Death looking over his shoulder, for Death had often stepped in to raise Alucard as an additional parent would have, easing Dracula's and Lisa's many burdens. If only—

Dracula felt Death's bony hand seize his own. He started. Where was the wine glass? He looked up and saw that Death was now levitating right in front of him, holding it ramrod straight in his other hand. "I'm sorry, Death," he managed to say. "I believe I have been more addled than I had anticipated."

Death released him, but Dracula's hand still tingled where Death had held it. Strange, since neither of their forms normally had any warmth to them. Before Dracula could wonder at this, Death let out a deep laugh that filled the room. "At least you did not throw it down this time! Persephone can only do so much."

Dracula smirked. Death's touch seemed to have broken some sort of black magic spell. When he looked back at the two portraits, no shadows stood between them. However, he still felt there was a bittersweet air about them—he wished they were not two paintings, but one joined together, so he and Death could _truly_ be side-by-side. And as he watched Death float back to his seat—taking his glass with him, of course—Dracula realized knew he would be remiss to not inform Death of his observation. The candlelight, the wine and blood, the scarlet fireplace, the meticulously-set table—it was as if he were seeing his surroundings for the first time, and at the heart of it all was his eternal confidant. "...Do you remember when Leon claimed eternity would be emptiness?" he asked Death. "He couldn't have been more wrong."

Death nodded, though Dracula detected a hint of confusion in his aura. Death's cream-colored skull fully visible now. "Of course he was wrong, my lord. You're leading a purposeful existence surrounded by a vast community of your own making—"

"Yes, but I wasn't referring to that." Dracula stood up-not with any regal gesturing as when he would rise from his throne in order to dance with an enemy. No, he rose instead as he once rose from a different chair, in a different cabinet—one that had been full of alchemical equipment—when he had been known by a different name, when he and Death had devised their first of many oaths. "I meant," he continued, "that you have always been by my side, and I enjoy these nights where it's just us two."

Death rose in one smooth motion, like a startled Black Panther. The points of light in his eye sockets burst into full flames before blinking out of existence again, as if they had been doused. Even his robe was frozen.

Dracula, overcome by affection, decided to be merciful to his dear friend. He strode over to him and gently placed both his hands on each of Death's shoulders. "You're getting very sentimental on me, old friend! Be careful, it may make your job too difficult!"

Death looked away and said something in voice too distorted to fully make out, but it sounded quite a bit like "You started it." Regardless, Death tentatively laid one of his hands over Dracula's, and their fingers curled together.

Wanting his intentions to be as clear as polished diamond, Dracula leaned in close enough to breathe in the faint smell of bone. He moved one of his hands to Death's hood and gingerly pulled it back, like parting a curtain hung from a lavish bed's canopy.

Death moved backwards, leaving Dracula touching naught but air and shadows, and looked Dracula in the eye. He made a sound like a raspy sigh. "I believe it is time for you to pay your coffin a visit, Lord Dracula."

"You are too noble by half, Death!" said Dracula. "I know that I have imbibed too much this night, but I know precisely how I feel… though it has taken me far too long to understand. And as I am a vampire—"

Death said nothing. He pointed to the room's single, small window—the sky was lightening rapidly. Dawn was soon to peak.

"Ah." Dracula hastily shuttered the window and closed the blinds. He considered the current layout of his Castle, struggling to picture a route back to his throne room that did not involve passing windows or flying through the open air in full view of the sun.

Death knew his thoughts. "Turn into a bat, Lord Dracula, and come to rest inside of my ribcage. I will pull my robe over it, and you will be shielded from the light." He opened his robe.

The words "I love you" surged unbidden to Dracula's throat, but as he had transformed in the very same moment, they sounded only as chittering. Full of newfound energy, he fluttered to Death, who then helped him crawl between his ribs. As Death smoothed down his robe and Dracula was enveloped by the sable darkness, he vowed to meet Death alone somewhere private and beautiful the following night, preferably under indigo skies and vaults of tender stars. He knew that when they were alone together, he could let go of the shadows of the past.


End file.
